


The House of Tears

by AlynnaStrong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Like I Would Hurt Brienne, Seriously I could write a story called Brienne Swims in Lava and she'd be fine, Starts dark, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Ser Jaime and entourage travel to Essos to investigate rumors of surviving Targaryens.  The problem is, Tyrion derails the mission by dragging his brother to a brothel where he meets a strangely compelling guard.





	The House of Tears

Jaime shouldn’t have allowed himself to get this drunk. He shouldn’t have ditched Ser Ambrose and Maester Volarik and their boring agenda. And he certainly shouldn’t have followed Tyrion into a brothel. But here he is with another drink in his hand, and he can’t tell if the serving girls were twins or if there’s just two of everything generally. 

He heard Tyrion’s rich laugh. Five women were crowded around him, each vying for his attention. His poor brother; so desperate for love. Had he not been born a dwarf, his golden curls and quick wit (and yes, the Lannister name) could have yielded him any woman he wanted. On the other hand, he was lucky in one regard. Jaime could only wish his own romantic problems could be solved with coin. 

Where were they again? Lys? Lys. Jaime set his goblet down; enough of that, he needed to clear his head. The common room was lushly appointed; clearly Tyrion knew all the best places. There were silk draperies in warm hues of yellow and orange. Women dressed just enough to tease without giving the game away cuddled next to potential clients in overstuffed settees. Honestly, how did Tyrion find these places? It must be some sort of strange instinct. It’s not like either of them had been to Lys before.

Jaime located the exit to the back areas, where the whores took their customers. A large guard blocked the door to prevent anyone from wandering back there by mistake. Was that a woman? He supposed that made sense, though most places made due with eunuchs. 

He blinked. There were two of things again. Some serving girl had replaced his goblet and he’d drunk it dry. Brilliant. 

“So brother, have you seen enough? Lots of blondes here if you want to stay true to type.” Tyrion’s red face popped into his blurring vision. “But I say variety is the spice of life. Go on! Try two. We can afford it.”

No way. Cersei would have his balls for a change purse. Why had he come here again? Jaime stood up, too fast. The room spun and he sat back down again, shutting his eyes to regain his equilibrium. He was close to insensible in a Lysene brothel. No wonder Cersei said Tyrion would be the death of her.

Jaime wanted to leave, but where had Tyrion gone? Well, he supposed he knew the answer to that one, but when would he be back? He didn’t think he could find his way to the inn without him.

An older woman – the proprietor – touched Jaime on the shoulder. “Is Ser needing some new choices? Perhaps some special services tonight. We can suit all tastes.”

The three closest women, hearing their master’s voice, approached Jaime and posed for him. He didn’t suppose it counted as cheating to look. They were indeed beautiful. Young lithe bodies, with unblemished skin all the way up to…the tear tattooed under each girl’s right eye. Because they weren’t whores; they were slaves. The knowledge left a Jaime with a sudden sick feeling. 

“I don’t want,” Jaime pointed at the tear under one slave’s eye. “Give me the big girl,” he joked. “At least she doesn’t have a damn tear, does she?” 

“She may be a bit unpredictable,” the madam said, clearly not appreciating his fine jape. 

“The big girl or nothing,” Jaime said. Then he passed out.

 

“Ser.”

“Ser.” Jaime opened his eyes. Where the ever-screaming hells-

“Ser. Your special request is ready.” 

Oh right. It all came flooding back. Some of it was a little blurry around the edges, though. Gods, how long had he slept? He was still unsteady on his feet, so it can’t have been that long. The madam led him to a room in the far back of the establishment. Those were the more expensive rooms, as he recalled. He hoped Tyrion’s little brainstorm hadn’t just used up all their spending money.

“She is ready for you. She will submit,” the madam said with steel in her voice, and there was that nauseous twist in his stomach again. 

She said she would take payment when he was done and closed the door behind him.

Jaime put on a fake smile and turned to the bed. Soon they’d laugh together because it was all a joke. He’d never lie with any woman other than Cersei, so she didn’t have to worry. It was an expensive joke, sure, but there are worse things.

The first thing he noticed was that the girl’s arms were tied behind her back. Not naughtily, not for a treat, but how you’d restrain a prisoner. She was lying naked on her side, facing away from the door. Jaime approached her, feeling notably more sober in both senses of the word.

He put a hand on her shoulder and she flinched away. She tried to bury her face into the pillow. She’d been crying, he saw, and again it wasn’t for show. Red eyes and a nose clogged with snot were not sexy. There were fresh bruises as well. Gods, what had he done?

He cut her arms free from their bindings with the dagger he wore on his belt. She immediately wrapped them around her chest to hide her teats, not that she had much to hide. Everywhere else, she was huge -- taller than he was and broader in the shoulder. Where do they grow them that big? Her blonde hair said local or possibly Westerosi but her frame said…giantess?

He cleaned her face with some water from the nearby basin. All the while, she remained silent. She didn’t have any expression at all, not anger nor gratitude, just emptiness. It was unsettling. Jaime was used to charming his way out of trouble, but he couldn’t come up with the right apology. ‘I was drunk; I was joking; I didn’t mean it,’ all seemed inadequate for what had obviously been several hours of pain, terror, and humiliation.

Inadequate or not, he had to say something. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

The girl’s eyes rose to meet his. They were blue, startlingly clear sky in the spring, get lost in them blue, and he was _not_ going to get an erection right now. That would destroy any chance of getting out of this without a new mark on his soul.

“I certainly didn’t think they’d beat you,” he continued. Drawing his eyes first up to the mark on her forehead and then to others on her heavily muscled torso (much like a man’s, he frantically told himself). 

“I fought them,” she said. Her voice was soft and deep. “I think I broke Sadir’s jaw.” She mimed head butting. 

“Of course you did,” he smiled down at her and tried to arrange the bedsheets to provide her some concealment. “I would have too if I’d been in your place.”

She took a few deep breaths. “You could help me,” she said, looking at his belt, at his money pouch.

Jaime supposed they’d trained her well after all. Always looking for the next gold piece. “No.”

“You could give it to me then.”

“Give you what exactly,” he asked, annoyed.

“The knife. I can do it myself.”

He went back to her eyes to see if she was serious and saw an ocean of hopelessness and despair. He knelt beside the bed, trying to change her outlook.

“No, because see, you’re the just the guard not a whore. She won’t try to sell you again.”

“Of course she will. I’ll fight every time, but they’ll beat me down every time. After all, I don’t make her anything by standing there. And she hadn’t realized I was maiden, until they shaved me. For you.”

She glared at him mulishly. What an aggravating woman. She was probably right, but she shouldn’t act so resentful when she was asking for a favor. The favor in question being opening her throat for her, of course. Gods, he didn’t even think he could blame Tyrion for this anymore. That he'd disgraced himself again, he was barely surprised. Pulling someone else down with him...no. It stops here.

“All right, I’ll help you. Just close your eyes.” He couldn’t look at her eyes anymore. They were angry, innocent, and sad all at the same time. It was too much.

He helped her sit up straight and lifted her hair out of the way. She didn’t even flinch. Gods. His father was going to kill him. He drove the point of his dagger into her right earlobe. Ignoring her gasp, he clamped down on her shoulder to hold her still. He thanked Tywin’s insistence on having the Lannister lion on everything as he sliced a gold button off his trousers, used a pin to fashion it into an earring, and slid it though the new hole in her ear.

“There. You’re free. Gods know how much you’ll cost.”

She was staring at him like he was crazy, which…maybe. He was right about the custom, though. A member of a high house could claim a bedslave by presenting her with an item of jewelry with the house seal. Of course, only an idiot would do that because he then had to pay her owner whatever she asked. 

 

300 gold dragons. The wench had cost 300 gold dragons. Jaime wondered if he should even bother going home or just jump into the sea. Plus he’d had to pay her passage to Westeros because she had nowhere else to go and was rightfully worried about being re-enslaved. At least there, no matter what else, she wouldn't be a slave. He'd have done that much.

He supposed if they were going to be on a ship together for a week, they'd better get to know one another. “What do they call you?”

“Gryves,” she replied. Her manner had been odd ever since she'd left the brothel with nothing but a cheap linen dress on her back (and a golden button in her ear). Her suicidal impulses seem to have passed, but so had her fighting spirit. 

Jaime tried to cheer her up. “It's an unusual name, but not without its charm.”

“It means ‘bear’” Tyrion whispered. He was staying in Essos to finish their mission, and so help him, he'd better not muck it up.

Oh. “Let go with something different for Westeros, though. How about Genna?” Jaime asked, naming her after his favorite aunt. 

“If it please you.”

Why was she so meek all of a sudden? Did she think he'd bought her for his personal amusement? He'd tried to explain-

“Thank you,” she said abruptly. “I can't understand it, though. You keep saying you don't want anything from me. So why did you help me?”

“There’s a saying – where we're going you’ll soon grow sick of it -- A Lannister always pays his debts. I’d gotten you into a bad situation, if I could pay off that with money, I felt honor bound to do so.” 

It was nice to have clarity. He’d become so disillusioned with his knightly vows that he felt they were nigh to worthless. Some were contradictory, some unrealistic, some flatly impossible. Most times it felt like he’d forgotten what honor was. Here, the choice had been as simple as leaving her, killing her, or saving her. The honorable track was so obvious he felt gratitude towards her for it. Had she ever heard of chivalry before? Perhaps that explained her confusion. She was used to everything being about how much someone would pay rather than issues of right versus wrong, honor versus disgrace. 

“We'll need to figure out where you belong,” he told her. “Do you have any memories to help?”

“No, the first thing I remember was the slave auction. I was 7. A different madam bought me for a serving girl, intending to train me, I’m sure. But I grew so big she called me worthless and sold me to another whose eunuch had died.”

“And who taught you the Common Tongue,” he asked as an afterthought.

“No one. I always knew it.”

Now that was interesting. Maybe she was Westerosi. We could be taking her home. Cheered, he resolved himself to passing the week teaching her about her new homeland and fending off her tentative advances. All told, he'd spent worse 300 dragons.

 

When their ship arrived at Lannisport, Jaime prevailed upon ‘Genna’ to disembark (she’d officially be free once she stepped onto free land) but to hang back so that he could explain her to Tywin. Naturally, he’d chosen today to become sentimental enough to meet Jaime’s ship at port.

“Who is that?” Tywin asked after they’d exchanged pleasantries. She was rather hard to miss, it was true. 

Jaime girded himself and relayed the story. Tywin took it far better than he’d assumed, waving off the 300 gold with a “I assumed Tyrion would squander at least that much.” More unsettling was how he continued to stare her way, finally asking, “Does she look familiar to you?”

“No, I can confidently say I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”

“She reminds me of someone. A nobleman’s wife I think it was. She was taller than her lord husband, who was not small himself, fair of hair. She died of fever, I think. I may have to check the books to trigger my memory.”

For the next several weeks, Genna lived at Casterly Rock. She tried to make herself useful, but she was completely untrained in womanly skills. She spent most of her time exploring the grounds or looking out at the sea. Jaime escorted her into town as often as possible, and the tenderness he showed her was not lost on Tywin. Jaime had nearly run out of excuses to stay when Tywin clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I think I’ve figured it out.” He showed Jaime a page from a heraldry book discussing the island of Tarth. 

“I don't see anything here about giant-sized women.”

“No, but I recall her now. His wife. A plain woman, tall, strong. They were happy together. They had two children but the boy drowned and the girl was lost at sea. She was meant to be fostered in her betrothed’s household, but her ship never made it there.”

“Is she still betrothed?” Jaime asked, trying to feign only casual interest.

“No, he married someone else. It’s been ten years.”

“Of course,” Jaime said and wondered why he'd asked.

“I’ve sent Lord Selwyn Tarth a raven inviting him to visit. I said I had something to show him. I didn’t want to get his hopes up if I’m wrong.”

Jaime nodded. Tywin regarded him with a sly smile. 

“If I’m right though, and she is of noble birth, do you want her as wife? Tarth is a highly regarded house; our money could restore much of its glory. Eventually your son would be the Evenstar as well as the Lord of Casterly Rock. Plus the girl is clearly smitten with you.”

Jaime started. Never let it be said that Tywin Lannister didn't think 30 moves in advance. Marrying someone other that Cersei was out of the question, however, not that he could tell his father that. “I don’t think so,” he said. “She’s rather young for me.”

Tywin laughed. “You can’t tell me that one hasn’t flowered. She’s seventeen or eighteen; plenty old enough.”

Jaime’s oldest child was not much younger, again not something he could tell his father. “I think she needs some time to recover, get reacquainted with her father. Maybe in a few years, if she’s still single.” A lot could happen in a few years.

 

Selwyn Tarth arrived in the next week. Jaime tried to see anything of Genna in him, but other than the fair hair and perhaps something around the eyes, he couldn’t. He and Tywin greeted Tarth in the traditional manner with bread and salt. Tywin told him he hoped to have a celebratory dinner later, but first he had to show him something in the garden. 

She was sitting with some maids, planting flowers. “Go say hello,” Tywin instructed Jaime, wanting to give Tarth some time to observe. Jaime approached the women. Genna rose to greet him. She was wearing a plain, blue dress that favored her coloring and brought out her eyes.

Selwyn Tarth blinked. At first he’d thought he was seeing the ghost of his wife. Then, the name “Brienne” tore from his throat. He dashed into the garden to embrace a startled Genna/Brienne. She looked to Jaime for reassurance. He nodded and tried out her new name in his head. Brienne. Brienne. It seemed far too feminine for her. 

Brienne looked down at Selwyn Tarth – the top of his head was at her nose – and asked, “Father?” He hugged her all the harder, eyes shining with joy.

Tywin ushered everyone else out of the garden to give the two of them their privacy. He promised all the answers he had at dinner. That evening, he started with saying Jaime found her in Essos, approaching ‘brothel’ only obliquely. It all seemed to bounce off Tarth, who was over the moon about having his daughter back and really just cared about taking her home. 

 

**Epilogue: Three Years Later**

A lot had happened in three years, just not the way Jaime had envisioned it. War had come to the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei, paranoid and insane with grief, had dismissed him from the kingsguard when he had not prevented Joffery's assassination. Probably she'd expected him to beg. However, for quite some time, his affections had been divided. 

He'd corresponded with Brienne, treasuring her letters where she wrote about life on Tarth (it sounded painfully dull but she enjoyed it) and her small triumphs (she could defeat their man-at-arms 3 out of 4 times and felt she was getting better at anticipating his tricks). She'd never written about suitors, though, and his father eventually told him why. He and Selwyn Tarth had a informal understanding for 'when he came to his senses.' Well, fuck them both for being right. Once he had his freedom, Jaime packed up and left without saying goodbye.

He asked her before he asked her father. A bit non-traditional, but it seemed the best way to go for someone who hadn't often been allowed to make decisions about her own life. Her response had been an enthusiastic yes, so enthusiastic that they'd nearly started the wedding night early. He'd had to bite his tongue not to ask if she was raised in a brothel. 

They were in the middle of wedding preparations when Brienne stopped sorting invitations with a quizzical look. 

“Jaime, what will we tell everyone about how we met?” she asked.

“Why the truth, of course. I saw you in a brothel, bought you for a button, but you wept at the thought of my touch so I had to free you.”

“No!” Her cheeks colored bright pink because it was not outside the realm of possibility that he was serious. “You were a handsome knight who rescued a fair maiden!”

“Well, you tell it your way; I’ll tell it mine. We'll see who they believe.”

She had to chase him all the way to the shoreline and let him call her 'Bear' for the rest of the week before he'd promise to behave.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Knight and the Maiden Bear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10931154) by [AlynnaStrong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong)




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